Nothing to Something
by Rostand
Summary: Ah, alcohol. The lubricant of love. Greg and Warrick get tanked and do some "make bonding".


Nothing to Something Nothing to Something 

Afterwards, Warrick was never really sure why his did it. Maybe it was the surprise of seeing the DNA lab dark for once, Greg actually packing up and leaving, puttering around the lab. Maybe it was the need for companionship finally clawing its way to the surface. Well, whatever the reason, Warrick had backpedalled a few steps and poked his head around the door. 

"Hey, Greg. Want to grab a bite with me?" 

Greg had looked up, startled, then grinned. "Sure." 

They had always been "friends", in the working-together-but-our-jobs-dominate-our-lives sense. But as they chatted over beer and burgers, Warrick found a quick wit and encyclopaedic knowledge of the pop culture eclectic and bizzare, and Greg had found biting sarcasm and an inquiring mind. In other words, they clicked. They talked well in to the wee hours, even after the bar had kicked them out. And did it again, a few days later. And a week after that. 

Talks over beer turned into critiquing the latest blockbuster that last showing and getting yelled at for talking too loud, which led to pizza-and-popcorn private showings of 'Invasion of the Body-Snatchers' and 'Barbarella, Queen of the Galaxy', or any other movie that Greg felt were necessary for Warrick's repetoire. 

It was after a particularily difficult case that Warrick, looking haggard, entered into Greg's domain, turning down the music out of long habit. Greg was peering down the scope, scribbling something on a pad without looking. Warrick folded his arms and leaned against one of the sets of shelves to wait for him. A moment later, Greg glanced up and flashed a grin at him. 

"Hey." 

"Hey," Warrick pushed off the shelf and walked over to the lab bench. "Still busy?" 

Greg shurgged. "The hits just keep on coming. I think my retinas are starting to fuse." 

Warrick snorted. "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to join me in a drunken binge, but -" 

"Oh God yes!" Greg breathed, faceplanting on his desk. "I'm already two hours into overtime, I can bugger off as soon as I finish running this one -" There was a tiny beep and the printer flicked on, spewing forth knowledge. Greg grapped it and scanned it quickly. "Boo-yeah. I'm outta here." 

Warrick lurked about as Greg closed up shop and dropped off the analysis as they left. It was chilly out, and Greg hopped from foot to foot as Warrick fumbled for his keys, diving into the cushy warmth of the car's interior as soon as the door was unlocked. Warrick laughed as he slid into the driver's seat. As they pulled out of the lot, he glanced over at the techie speculatively. 

"Y'know, I don't think any of us say this enough, but . . . you work harder that all of us. Just . . . thank you." 

Greg gave him a sideways smile. "Thanks, 'Rick." 

They drove on in comfortable silence. 

The cab drove off as soon as Warrick and Greg managed to extricate themselves. They had seen too many car crashes caused by DUI to take the chance, especially as drunk as they currently were. Warrick swayed and peered down the street after the departing taillights. 

"Dammit. Gotta call another one," he muttered. 

"You didn't have to get out," Greg reminded him as they reeled into the building and towards the elevator. 

"Walk you up. Gentlemanly." 

Greg snorted as they fell into the elevator. "Phone. In 'partment. Call another one." 

The elevator stopped and they wobbled out as Warrick nodded his agreement. This action, combined with resumed forward motion, sent him staggering into Greg, pinning the younger man to the wall by accident. He opened his mouth to apologise, but was suddenly distracted by the face that his face was approximately an inch from Greg's. There was a tense, beathy pause that Warrick ended by leaning in and kissing him. A short, fumbling, drunken kiss that he ended from lack of response. He pulled back and search Greg's face for some kind of response. 

"You're drunk," Greg stated matter-of-factly, then curled one hand around Warrick's neck and pulled him down again. Just before their lips touched, he murmured, "So am I." Then they were kissing, a rough, deep kiss that somewhere behind the drunken haze Warrick was surprised was so proficient. They staggered, embracing and kissing, down the hall until they reached Greg's apartment. Warrick kissed his neck as Greg turned away to fumble with the door, finally pushing it open and falling inside. The door slammed closed behind them. 

Warrick groaned as he blurred into consciousness. His mouth felt sandy and his head throbbed menacingly. These two facts quickly faded into insignificance as he realised exactly where he was was. His head was pillowed on something soft and warm and very much alive, and he could feeling a heartbeat pulsing against his cheek. His arms and leg were flung across same said being, and rumpled sheets cover the rest. He opened his eyes and immeidately shut them as rosy dawn stabbed into his retinas. He groaned and shifted, burying his face in Greg's chest, and stretched his legs. Warrick felt the techie wake up, a similar shifting and stretching. He briefly onsidered rolling sideways, but was entirely too comfortable to move. 

A hand drifted over his back, tracing the line of his shoulderblade and coming to rest on his neck, Greg's thumb tracing lazy circles. "Warrick?" he murmured, his voice fuzzy. 

"Mmm-hmm." 

"You hung over?" 

"Mmm-hmm." 

"Me too." 

Warrick began to laugh. "Damn, this had to be the weirdest post-coital conversation I've ever had." 

"What about pre-post-coitalness?" Greg pointed out, with fuzzy morning logic. 

"Right up there," Warrick replied. "From what I remember." He shifted his head and opened his eyes, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin of Greg's chest. He shifted as his mouth moved upwards, tracing the curve of his collarbone as one hand came up to stroke along his side, ghosting over a nipple. 

Greg arched his back and moaned, other bits of his anatomy beginning to wake up under the stimuli. "Whatcha going?" he asked shakily. 

"Reminding myelf," Warrick replied, swinging his leg over to straddle the younger man. Greg's arms came up around his neck as he wriggled to get closer. Warrick smirked as he lowered his head, intent on kissing the sleepily rumpled techie senseless. Their lips had barely touched when an insistent electronic beeping intruded. 

Warrick groaned and collapsed beside Greg, draping an arm across his eyes. "It's Grissom. It's Grissom, I swear." 

Greg reached over Warrick, deliberately pressing as much skin as possible in the process, and grabbed Warrick's pants, draped over the bedside table. He fumbled with the pager for a moment and unclipped it, checking the number. "Wow, you're psychic," he breathed, grinning. 

"Oh, shut up." 

Greg laughed and rolled off him. "You've gotta go. I'll call a cab and you can . . . get cleaned up." 

"I hate people whose brains work in the mornings," Warrick grumbled as he rolled off the bed and collected his clothes as quickly as he could. When he emerged from the bathroom in more or less pristine shape, Greg was in the kitchen, his hari sticking up in every possible direction, dressed in an aging fluffy grey rob that still managed to look sexy. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air. 

"You are . . ." Warrick muttered throatily as Greg wordlessly handed him a mug and two Aspirin. 

"Yes, I am," he replied cheerfully. "Cab's on the way. You going to pick up your car?" 

Warrick nodded. "Takes a bit longer, but easier in the long run." 

There was a pause. "Sooo . . ." Greg said after a long moment. 

"So." 

Greg drummed his fingers on his mug nervously. "Are we . . . an us? I mean, do we have a relationship now, or are we just 'friends with benefits'?" 

Warrick snorted at his turn of phrase and took a thoughtful sip. "Well, 'relationship' implies we're dating." 

"Yeah, I guess." Greg was saved from nervous fidgeting by the phone ringing and he practically dove to get it. "Hello? Okay. Be right down." He hung up and turned back to Warrick. "Taxi's here," he said, fidgetting slightly as he took the empty mug. "I'd go down, but . . . so, friends with benefits?" 

"Never said that," Warrick smirked, leaning in for a peck on the cheek. "Pick you up nineish." Then he was out the door, leaving Greg standing in the middle of his tiny kitchen, grinning like an idiot. 

It was actually closer to ten when Greg threw in the towel and close the lab, sending off the last few reports. As he stepped into the hallf, he almost ran into the object of his affection - or was run into by said sex-god. He grinned rather stupidly, which Warrick returned just as stupidly. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

"I was just coming to see if you were done," Warrick said, still smiling. "Did you . . . want to go somewhere?" 

"'Day After Tomorrow' starts at 10:45," Greg said hopefully. 

"Sounds good," Warrick said, grinning. "Or bad, actually, which I think is the point." 

As they settled into the plush seats in the semi-darkness of the pre-preview ads, Warrick leaned over and said, "And how is this different from what we usually do?" 

"It's different because now," Greg held up a finger, "I can do this." He flicked up the armrest between them and snuggled into Warrick's side. 

"Hmm, much better," he purred, draping his arm around the techie and pulling him in for a kiss. Greg's arms went aound his waits, sliding under his shirt, and it wasn't long before a jubejube bounced off Warrick's head and a gruff male voice from behind and to the left yelled, "Get a room, fags!" 

A lighter, female voice from directly behind them immediately countered, "Oh no, please don't." 

They broke the kiss and twisted up to see two teenage girls watching them with twin smirks on their faces. One of them flapped her hand imperiously and said, "Continue with the sucking of face." 

Warrick didn't know whether to laugh or be offended by that. 

They fumbled a bit in the beginning. That wasn't much of a surprise. Working for the crime lab seemed to kill one's social skills, at least in the dating field, meaning they wre both more than a bit out of practice. One thing they had agreed on was to keep a low profile at work. 

Which is why Warrick was genuinely puzzle when Grissom called him into his office about a while later. When Warrick walked in, he was peering at a pile of autoposy photographs and comparing them to transparencies of x-rays. 

"Hey Gris, what's up?" 

He glanced up, distracted. "Warrick. Come in." He kept frowning at the pictures as he talked. "You and Greg. It's going well?" 

Warrick blinked and gaped a few times like a stunned fish. "How . . . do you know about that?" 

Grissom gave him The Eyebrow. "Eight days ago you showed up for work in the same clothes you had left in last shift, but they weren't wrinkled as if slept in. You had left with Greg the previous night. And you were wearing one of his socks." Warrick just gaped as Grissom continued, waving a photo for emphasis. "Since then, you've left together every day, you both seem more relaxed, and everyone's noticed the sudden evaporation of the sexual tension between you two. So, is it going well?" 

"I, uh, hope so . . ." Warrick said vaguely, somewhat stunned. 

"You know my policy. If it affects the quality of your work . . ." 

"It won't," Warrick said emphatically. "You know us better than that." 

"There!" Grissom burst out, slapping down a photo and stabbing at it with a finger. "I _knew_ that discolouration looked odd." As he began shuffling through a stack of printouts, Warrick just shook his head and backed out. Sometimes the Sherlocking got a bit out of hand. 

It was with this odd coversation in mind that Warrick headed towards the DNA lab. Greg was, as usual, peering down the scope and scribbling notes with the other hand. He finished and sighed, dropping the pencil and flexing stiff fingers. Suddenly, he let out a little 'erk!' as his chair was spun around, which was quickly smothered by Warrick's mouth. After a fleeting frozen moment of shock, Greg melted into the kiss, his arms coming up around Warrick. When they pulled apart, Greg blinked a few times, making a little looping gesture with his forefinger. 

"Okay, now _that_ . . . was a very pleasant surprise and please feel free to repeat it anytime," he finished in a rush, licking his lips. "May I enquire as to the occasion?" 

"Grissom knows," Warrick murmured, straightening up and folding his arms. 

Greg spluttered. "What? How?" 

Warrick shrugged. "You know how he is." 

Greg groaned. "He did that omniscence thing _again_? I thought that only worked for dead guys!" He sobered almost instantly as another thought occured to him. "Is he . . . okay with this? With us?" He suddenly looked stricken. "Is there an us?" 

"Yes, yes, and most definite, irrefutable, emphatic, everlasting yes," Warrick replied, and felt his knees go wobbly at the smile that blossomed across the techie's face. 

"Really?" Greg asked, sounding about ten. 

Warrick laughed. "Really, I hope. I gotta get back to work." 

Greg nodded. "I'll see ya later." 

It was actually a slow day in the crime lab. CSIs plugged away at cold case files or wrapped up loose ends in open cases, or shuffled paperwork. Which is why Warrick thought it slightly odd that the DNA lab was so crowded when he walked in later that day with an evidence bag of clothes. Well, not exactly crowded, but . . . surrounded. People loitered in the halls, trying to look inconspicuous. Warrick passed Sara lurking just outside the door, flipping through an upsidedown report. He shot her a puzzled look and she blushed, burying her nose in the folder. 

He dropped the bag on the bench beside the techie, and Greg looked up from his microscope. "Construction site stabbing?" he asked with a sigh. 

"Yeah . . . Greg, what's going on?" Warrick gestured at the observers, who seemed to have doubled. Techies were leaning out of their labs, and practically all traffic in the halls has stopped. Warrick shifted uncomfortably under the weight of so many eyes. 

Greg rolled his eyes. "Somebody saw us kissing earlier and spread it around. Now everyone's lurking about trying to see if it's true." 

Warrick groaned and grabbed Greg, crushing their bodies together. "Mmm, likin' this," Greg purred before attacking Warrick's lips. Pointedly avaoiding landing on anything, Warrick pushed Greg back onto the bench as they made out wildly. Greg couldn't help it. He started snickering as Warrick nibbled at his neck, and could feel the CSI laughing at the same time. 

The door opened and Grissom's voice said, "Greg, do you have the results of that residue for me?" 

Greg craned his neck as Warrick didn't stop his attentions, to see Grissom standing there, frowning absently at a file. He extracted one hand from Warrick's shirt and groped for the printer, grabbing the analysis and held it out to him. 

"Nitroglycerin and sawdust," he said, as calmly as ever, but his voice jumped an octave as Warrick ground against him. "Homemade dynamite." 

Grissom took it from him and walked out, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks, Greg." 

Greg turned his attention back to Warrick, murmuring into his ear, "That was mean." 

"Hey, I'm allowed my little fun," Warrick replied. 

In respone, Greg heaved him backwards, sending them both against the glass wall beside the door. Greg planted both hands on either side of Warrick's head, pinning him down with his body. He kissed him ferociously before lifting his head and grinning at Sara, who was lurking just on the other side of the glass. 

"Hey, Sara, what's up?" 

She squeaked and fled. 

Greg dropped his hands and backed away, letting Warrick slide bonelessly to the ground. "I'll have this for you in a bit. I have a rape kit to analyse first. Probably forty minutes-ish." 

"Uh-huh," Warrick replied. slightly dazed. "Yeah." 

The hallway was completely empty when he finally staggered to his feet and walked back to his office. On his way he passed Grissom in one of the conference rooms, ordinance maps neatly spread across the tabletop. He knocked lightly and Grissom glanced up, one eyebrow arching skywards. 

"Finished already?" 

Warrick shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry about that, Gris, but everyone was -" 

"- hanging around, trying to confirm the rumour of the moment," he finished. "I know. And thank you for getting people away from the DNA lab and back to work." 

"Any time," Warrick replied, grinning. "Any time." 

**FIN**


End file.
